


Must desert you, just before you go

by brokxnharry



Series: I think I'm coming undone [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Derek Comes Back, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e06 Motel California, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mentions of Stydia, Other, Panic Attacks, Temporary Character Death, bits and pieces of humor, but nothing major, detailed panic attacks, melissa is the best mum, mentions of Gerard - Freeform, mentions of Peter, mentions of Scallison, mentions of jennifer but without naming her, mentions of sickness and death, sciles are the best duo don't fight me, spoilers of 3a, sterek fluff, the sheriff is the best dad, trigger warning possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Scott goes to visit Stiles at the hospital. He didn't mean for it to feel like a goodbye, didn't mean to leave, to keep leaving, but he just... couldn't.





	Must desert you, just before you go

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ever since New York by Harry Styles (obviously).  
> I don't own any of the characters or the main storyline.  
> Share your thoughts please!

Melissa walked into Scott's room, using the spare key that she'd never told him about. He buried himself further into his pillow and blankets and sheets and Stiles' shirt to breathe in anything other than the smoke that still hadn't gone away. He didn't think it ever would.

His mother took it all away. She stripped all his armors away and he wanted to cry but he didn't. He started yelling, for his privacy, for his space, for the time he thought he deserved, to spend alone, to himself, and by himself. He yelled because no, he didn't want to see Stiles, or anyone for that matter. And he didn't want to eat either, because his stomach was still turning and he was almost certain he'd throw up.

He yelled and she took it. She just stood there, not feeding his rage, but not fighting against it either. She allowed him to throw a fit. To let out all the bullshit he was filling himself up with, to mask everything he couldn't face quite yet. Things like an injured best friend and a suicide attempt and a fire that he started but couldn't end. And when he deflated, when he ran out of energy to yell some more, she told him that she would be waiting in the car, and she was going to drive them both to the hospital, because she didn't raise a boy who baled on people that needed him. And Stiles deserved more from him. So did the Sheriff.

She left before he could see the tears forming in her eyes, before her stamina wavered, or her will gave out. And when he finally came out of the house, she did as promised, driving them both to the hospital, no questions asked, no words needed, really.

But as they stood outside Stiles' room, she finally felt his hands around hers, felt him stopping, shaking, panicking. She turned back towards him, taking in the tears he'd been pretending weren't there, the way his bottom lip trembled a bit, pouting, the way it did ever since he was a little baby, trying too hard to be the man she needed him to be.

" I can't do it, mum. Please don't make me. I don't- I don't want to go in there. Please. I'll do anything, just- just not this." He shook his head, shuddering out a breath that was held back along with all the cries he was burying in his chest.

" Shh, honey, it's okay." She pulled him into her arms, and for the first time since she'd stood outside his door -begging him to talk to her, to let her in, to just open the door and come out because she was worried sick and she almost lost him and Stiles both on the same day- he let her. But then the door opened and the Sheriff stood there, hiding his son behind him so that he wouldn't see how his best friend, his brother, couldn't handle being around him.

Scott pulled away from his mother, and fell into the Sheriff's welcoming arms. He held onto him and asked if he was ready, if he really wanted to do this, because he didn't have to. But he did. Scott had to go in there and will his heart not to break too hard. He had to be there for his best friend, because he at least owed him that. He owed him so much that he felt himself drowning in debt. But he nodded, and he wiped at his face, before walking into the room, and closing the door behind him.

He stood there, facing away from Stiles, chest suddenly heaving, hands trembling as they clung to the door, willing it to open because he didn't think he could do it himself. He was hearing it again. Lydia's scream. Allison's shirt hitting against Stiles' unmoving body. The fire gargling, growing, surrounding. The sickening quiet of not hearing Stiles' heartbeat. Scott was right there, in the room, and he still couldn't bring himself to hear it. He'd known it by heart, he'd followed it, chased it, found it every time it'd faded away, but for the life of him, he couldn't hear it now. Couldn't hear anything past the yelling and the screaming and the cries.

His fingers stoned, his nervous system fried by the lack of sleep and the guilt shipping away at him, and for the life of him, he couldn't get the door to open. He couldn't think straight, couldn't process anything past his need to get out, get far away, escape.

" I can't hear it. Fuck, why can't I hear it?" He whispered under his breath without really meaning to, pushing against the door, with his hands trembling in sheer, raw, ruthless panic. He couldn't remember how he should pull the door towards him instead of push. Couldn't find his voice enough to call out to his mother, or to the sheriff, or to anyone, to just fucking anyone to get him the hell out of there.

" Scott, honey, calm down, you don't have to hear it, you don't have to, just turn around, there are machines there to help. There's a heart monitor, and it's beeping. Look at it. Breathe, baby, his heart is still beating. Just breathe." Melissa tried to push the door open, but Scott's dead weight was leaning against it, and his mind couldn't interpret the difference between pulling and pushing, between leaving and staying, between wanting to be there for his friend, doing what was right, and his desperate need for a release. God. He couldn't breathe.

" Okay, okay, okay," He slowly, carefully, turned around, eyes closed against his will, as he focused all that was left functioning inside him, on the heart monitor. He opened one eye, then another, and the door that was supporting his weight seemed to have disappeared, the ground beneath his feet seemed to have cracked opened, and he felt himself free falling, long before he hit against the chair the sheriff had previously occupied. Because the heart monitor was beeping. It was steady and calm and there, but Stiles. God, Stiles. His skin was pale and dry, except for the parts that had been touched by the fire, those were swollen and reddened. Such an angry shade of red. A shade that Scott hadn't been able to blink away, ever since it'd surrounded them, demanding to take something. Someone.

Stiles' head was covered by a bandage that was mostly clean, except for a few bloody spots. His legs were bandaged too, up to half his back, and Scott almost threw up. He had to look away, with a hand over his mouth, to keep everything that was inside him, in. To hold it all back.

" Scott, you're here," Stiles' eyes were barely opened, a cautious smile now gracing his lips, as he took in the wreck that was his best friend. But he didn't care, because at least he was in one piece. At least he was there.

Scott wiped at his face, not knowing what was pouring out of him, breathing in around the smell of Stiles' burned skin and meds and hospitals and just… illness.

" How are you feeling?" Scott tried to smile, he really did. He tried to reassure his friend and be hopeful and optimistic and just bear the weight for him. But his heart was breaking and anxiety had such a hold on him still, he didn't know if he'd ever feel right again.

" I'm fine. Better. How are you? I didn't know if you'd come, if you'd want to see me." Stiles sounded weary, cautious, like he didn't know what he could or couldn't say to Scott. It was odd. There'd never been this restraint between them.

" Yeah. Me neither, actually. But mum kind of forced me out of my room, and, yeah. I've been here for a while, but you were sleeping, and I didn't want to wake you, so I-" He didn't want to leave. He willed himself to stay, because he knew that if he'd walked out that room, he never would have been able to go in there again. He never would have been able to stay.

" Are you okay?" Scott looked around Stiles instead of at him. He couldn't. It was too much, too fast, and he was barely keeping it together.

" Why are you the one asking me this? You're the one who- who got hurt. You're the one laying here. Not me."

" Yeah, but you won't look at me. Scott, you do know this wasn't your fault, right?"

" Stiles,"

" No, you're not allowed to blame yourself for this. You're not allowed to feel guilty for something you couldn't control. You weren't yourself. This wasn't you, Scott. And I made the choice to step into that fire. I did that. Not you."

" You don't understand,"

" Don't understand what? Guilt?" Of course Stiles could understand. He'd lived with the shadow of guilt following him around, taunting him, every time he'd try to forget how many lives had slipped through his fingers, without ever getting a chance to hold onto them. Ever since his mother's passing, he'd been seeing that guilt in his father's eyes, even when they were angry, hazy due to his desperate need to forget. He'd been feeling that guilt, every time Melissa came close, because God, she was trying so hard to fill that hole inside him that only grew as the years went by. He'd been smelling it, smelling **_her_** , in every embrace that remotely resembled her own.

" It's not like that, Stiles. I- it's not guilt. It's- you know what, it doesn't matter. I came here because mum said you wanted to see me for yourself. And here I am. Alive and- and well." The arms he'd spread beside him, had fallen away. The chest he'd expanded, trying to make himself seem bigger, feel stronger, like he somehow was in control of the chaos inside his head, it'd had faltered, collapsing under the weight of his need to **_breathe_** , but his inability to do even that.

" Scott," Stiles sighed, pulling his hand out, reaching, trying to somehow close in on Scott, but he pulled away like the proximity had burned him. Burned. The way Scott's fucked up mind had burned Stiles. Had almost gotten him ki-.

Scott rose from his seat, staggering away from Stiles, shaking his head, because no, Stiles wouldn't get close. Not again. Not ever. He couldn't keep doing this to his best friend, the person who was supposed to mean the world to him, next to his mum. He couldn't- he couldn't do this. Fuck. He couldn't.

" I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Stiles, I'm sorry." He looked away, so far away, because if he'd looked any closer, if he'd spared Stiles a look at all, he would have seen the bandages and the blood and the skin that was falling apart and that would be what he'd take away from Stiles. This couldn't be the last he'd see of his friend. This couldn't be it.

Finally figuring out how to open the door, he found the Sheriff and his mother standing there, patient, open, so forgiving even when he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve them.

" I'm sorry, Mr. Stilinski. I- fuck, I-" Something crawled up his throat, spilling out of him before he could stop it. He put his hands over his mouth, around his face, but it kept pouring right out of him. It kept coming. It kept hurting, even when his mother pulled him into her arms, and the Sheriff started whispering kind promises into the air surrounding them.

" Stop. Stop, mum. I- I need to go home. I need to get out of here. I'm going home, I'm sorry."

" Wait, I'll come with you."

" No, no. Stay here. Take care of Stiles. And- yeah. Just take good care of him."

He didn't wait for his mother's response. Or how the Sheriff watched him, walking away, before looking at his son, who had his face buried into his pillow, releasing sounds that were far too fierce, far too heavy, for a person who did their best to remain light and free. He didn't wait for condolences or apologies or pathetic attempts at making him feel better, at fixing him up, when Stiles was the one who reeked of pain even after Scott had left the hospital. He was the one with burns and wounds and a collapsed body and haunted mind. He was the one who'd been betrayed by his friend, who'd almost lost his life for someone who wasn't worth it, who'd never be worthy of such a loss.


End file.
